


A Good Day

by innusiq



Series: Pre-Serum Problems [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innusiq/pseuds/innusiq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>01/04/1941:  Today, Steve bought himself a new book and immediately almost dropped it in a puddle on the way home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> Part four of a series of ficlets inspired by [todays-skinny-stave](http://todays-skinny-steve.tumblr.com) tumblr page that chronicles Pre-Serum Steve's day to day life beginning 01/01/1941. Many apologies on my slow updates, but I do I continue to thank this tumblr user immensely for allowing me to use these posts as inspiration!

Today is going to be a good day, Steve’s determined it will be no matter what the world decides to throw his way. When he woke earlier that morning, his chest felt clear (or at least clearer than is usual for an asthmatic whose curved spine doesn’t make breathing any easier), and the general achiness that radiates from his back through to the tips of his fingers and down to his toes were at a minimum (they are never really, truly gone but there are always better days than others, this being one of the better). When he climbed out of Bucky and his conjoined beds that morning, it was with a distinct spring in his step (that had nothing to do with the chill of the floorboards), one that Bucky would’ve surly teased over if his friend had been present to witness, but alas Bucky had left for his job at the docks a few hours back with a whispered, _"Enjoy yer day off, Pal,"_ as the covers were tucked back around Steve, he returning a sleepy hum followed by, _"See ya later, Buck."_ Bucky responded with a hand ruffle to Steve’s hair and a quiet chuckle as Steve immediately fell back asleep. 

Fully awake now, Steve makes his way down the hall to the communal bath, to relieve himself and splash some water on this face and hair, before scurrying back to their tiny apartment to get dressed for the day. He pulls on a pair of pleated brown pants, the waist hanging lower than it should (even with a belt and suspenders) but there isn’t much he can do about that. He pulls on a less than white button down with a hole in the one elbow and a stain on the pocket, and pulls over that a blue sweater (one his mom gave him a few years back) that is equally worn thin but is still his favorite because of his mother’s own fondness of how it looked on him. _”It brings out those beautiful eyes of yours,”_ she’d said the first time he wore it, the memory of her beaming smile always able to warm his sorrowful heart. Nothing in the world could ever make him part with it now that she’s gone because each time he wears the well worn garment, it’s like receiving a long forgotten hug from his ma, something he wants to cherish for as long as time will allow (or for as long as the garment will hold up).

Steve shoves a piece of dry (heading into stale) bread in his mouth on the way out the door, buttoning up his jacket to ward against the chill of the day. Stepping outside their tenement, Steve wraps a scarf (Bucky’s good red one, left behind with a note, _if you go out, wear it_ ) around his neck three times, and pulls on his own gloves (remembered and fitting this time), and makes his way down to the square with change jingling in his pocket. He has plans today, maybe not _big_ plans in the grand scheme of day to day living (probably nothing world shattering compared to what someone like Howard Stark might consider _big_ ), but something he’d been saving up for more than a year on. Plans that had been pushed back and postponed time and again when he’d gotten sick twice in one month and they needed his spare change to go towards their rent or food so they’d last until the next month, but today he’d made it, saving double of what he needed so that if something did come up (or he came down with something again) he wouldn’t feel too guilty for spending his extra change on a luxury item such as a book. 

Bucky had laughed over his debate, his fiend knowing how much he’d been looking forward to getting his hands on the novel, but Steve is nothing but a pragmatic, and he generally worries more than he lets on over the efforts Bucky puts forth to ensure their survival and how his own struggling efforts don’t seem to ever compare. 

_”Steve, if you want the damn book, then get it!” Bucky yelled, his annoyance obvious in his tone and the look leveled towards Steve._

_“But what if we need the money for something else? What…” Steve tried to argue, but Bucky cut him off._

_“Steve, I hate to go bursting your perfect little bubble but we’re always gonna need the money,” he explained matter-of-factly. “Ain’t no use not enjoying yerself a little, and if it’ll make ya feel any better, you can think of it as something… educational.”_

_“How ya figure that,” Steve asked skeptically, eyebrow raised in challenge._

_Bucky huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yer always yammering at me that I need to read more, so it’d be killing two birds with one stone. You buy the book you want to read and read it to me, and we’ll both have read the book.”_

_“That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I said…”_

_“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but it’ll get you yer book, so everyone wins.”_

_Steve really couldn’t (well he could but he doesn’t) argue further with Bucky’s logic. He really wants the book._

It takes him fifteen minutes to walk the short distance to the corner newsstand, which had at least two copies of the book the last time he passed by on his way home from work (and he hoped at least one remained so that he hasn’t made a wasted trip). The snow fall of the last couple days has tapered off, and the temperature's warmed up a bit, not enough to warrant stepping out without a coat, or scarf and gloves, but warm enough that some of the collected snow on the sidewalks has melted into small puddles of slush making walking more of a sloppy mess than when the temperatures were below freezing. By the time Steve reaches the corner vendor, the toes of his right foot are freezing due to the hole in his shoe allowing the frigid winter slush to seep in, no matter the amount of paper he’s got shoved in them, or how thick his socks are. They will spend some time on top the radiator when he gets home to dry out for Sunday, that’s a given.

“Mornin’, Steven. Ready to make that commitment today?” The newsstand owner, George Kaplan, asks upon Steve’s approach. “I was gettin’ worried for ya there. Someone picked up a copy of the book yesterday. Only one’s left.”

Steve offers a smile to the older, wrinkly and grey-haired man, grabbing what is the newsstand’s last copy of “The Holy Terror” by H.G. Wells (which happens to be strategically placed in a manner that doesn’t so much hide it from view but doesn’t draw attention all the same) in relief, knowing he hasn’t missed this opportunity. It’s an author he’s enjoyed reading in the past, one Bucky himself has even picked up a book or two for reading from Steve’s albeit small library, and he can just imagine the ragging Bucky would’ve laid on him for waiting too long to buy it in the first place had he missed out. _”Serves ya right, Punk, for draggin’ yer feet,”_ Bucky would have said, but of course Bucky would never have left it as such, and would’ve probably ended up searching out all of Brooklyn (and beyond if need be) to find another copy, because that is just how Bucky is, but thankfully it won’t be necessary this time.

“Thanks, Mr. Kaplan,” Steve says with gratitude while digging in his pocket to round up his change, knowing the lengths the man went to ensure there was one copy waiting for Steve. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Mr. Kaplan laughs, dressed in a coat that is thicker than Steve’s ever owned, shaking his head and counting the change as Steve hands it over. “Don’t know what yer implying, Steven. I ain’t done nothin’ I wouldn’t a done for any other loyal customer.”

Steve smiles again, hand gripping his newly acquired book. “Still, thanks anyway. You have a great day!”

“Same to you, Steven. Don’t go reading it all in one sittin’,” Mr. Kaplan calls out as Steve turns to make his way back to the apartment still with a bit of spring in his step even knowing he probably won’t be reading the book anytime soon, but just knowing he has it to read is enough to brighten his already decidedly good day.

The journey back takes a bit longer, the exertion on the way slowing his springy returning steps, and perhaps traversing the bustling streets of Brooklyn on a busy Saturday morning with such a spring in his step isn’t a good idea, especially when his gait isn’t all that steady or straight on a normal day, but in the end there was little control he could maintain over his excitement. Thus, it comes as no great surprise (at least in hindsight) that one minute Steve is making the final turn around the corner of their tenement’s block and the next finds him skidded flat on his back, as a few snickers and a _”Watch where yer goin’, Pal”_ called out to him as Steve struggles to catch the breath that has literally been knocked out of him. 

He lays there a moment, or two, perhaps three, just struggling to regain an even breath (it’s nothing like a full blown asthma attack, but he’s thankful for the experience he does have handling such an extreme attack given the situation), ignoring the fact that no one seems to care about the downed _little guy_ other than to throw a pitying look his way when they do take notice but aren’t really moved enough to offer help. The cold and damp of the snow begins registering, seeping in through his coat and pants, but thankfully his newly acquired book is kept dry, held safe against his chest. He’s sure to have received a chewing out from Bucky had his friend been witness to his clumsiness about taking better care of himself and damning the book to Hell and shouting something along the lines of, _”It’s not as important as yer own damn health!”_ Bucky would have helped him up first though, and made sure he was all right before reading him the riot act. He will probably still receive a lashing tonight due to his proneness to bruising and Bucky’s ever-watchful observation. Thankfully this time it has nothing to do with a back alley brawl and Steve's unfiltered _big_ mouth and unwavering need to always step in to right the wrongs of others.

Shaking his head, Steve struggles to right himself (still keeping his book from the sludge of winter), and completes the last hundred feet or so to their tenement, and continues slowly making his way up the three flights of stairs to their room’s floor. By the time he has the door closed, back pressed against its somewhat solidness (it tends to bow even under Steve’s slight weight), his breathing is labored again and he’s started shivering from the cold wetness of his clothing clinging against his skin, but when he looks down at _his_ book, Steve is still able to smile in satisfaction of a goal finally accomplished. 

In the end, no matter what, it’s still a good day.


End file.
